


Without Me

by Huge_actman



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: But I'm hoping that by posting a few paragraphs I'll motivate myself to write more, Don't model your own relationships after this portrayal ok, Fanfic!feb, I Have None Of This Planned Out, It's gonna be based off some Halsey songs, M/M, Only about 5 pages written, Probably not fluff?, Ratings are subject to change, The Greatest Showman, This isn't going to be a nice healthy one, William Blake refs, bisexual circus dads, how do you even tag, it's weird - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-20 12:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17622659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huge_actman/pseuds/Huge_actman
Summary: Prosperous playwright Phillip Carlyle meets Barnum, the ringmaster of the one hit wonder Barnum Circus, and the two develop a strange, dangerous relationship.





	1. Ashes to Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> (all this is subject to change.) (It's also possible I'll abandon this.) bUt if it goes how I want it to, it'll be a rIDE.

PT-

The circus was failing. Miserably.   
There was no mincing words- this was a fact that anyone could see. The crowds that had been so keen to attend at first had dwindled quickly, and those that did attend were few and far between. The Big Apple had seemingly lost interest in the Barnum Circus in a few short weeks, leaving them behind, reeling first with the energy and attention, and later the loss of it.  
Perhaps the historians would record the Rise and Fall of the Barnum Circus, the week long wonder of New York City. Or worse, would it be forgotten? Would the evidence of the one victory in PT’s life fall into the dust?   
Not if he could help it.  
He had brought the circus out of his dreams, pulling and thrashing like an animal, and he would keep it alive, even if it meant destroying everything else in his way. PT Barnum was no quitter.


	2. Puppeteer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the stars threw down their spears  
> And water'd heaven with their tears:  
> Did he smile his work to see?  
> Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 
> 
> Tyger Tyger burning bright,  
> In the forests of the night:  
> What immortal hand or eye,  
> Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
> 
> -William Blake, The Tyger

Phillip

Phillip had always enjoyed going among his audience after a performance. He enjoyed observing the varying levels of his success. Refined ladies and proper gentlemen alike often exited the theater with red-rimmed eyes- evidence that Phillip had succeeded in plucking their heartstrings once again.  
Perhaps the closest you could be to a god was when you toyed with the emotions of others from a distance (cruel as that seems- but when have the gods ever been gentle?).  
That, at least was his opinion. When Phillip created his characters, he forced them through trials and tribulations of all sorts, wrung their hearts, bled them dry- just to elicit tears from the audience. So yes, he was as close to a god as any human could ever get- he created, tore down, and built back up, and his spectators could do nothing. 

{And when the stars threw down their spears and watered heaven with their tears, did he smile, his work to see?

Did he who made the lamb make thee?}

He did. Phillip glowed with the pride of his success. His characters were real and (most of them) alive in the minds of many, and they walked and talked and bled and cried. And his pitiful audience cried along with them. The mindset of a world-dominating villain took over Phillip’s mind, and he could not resist a mildly sadistic smile.  
It was like being a puppet master, a god, a creator.  
Phillip was proud. At last he was making a name for himself. Tales of his success may not be plastered over the front page of the newspaper, but his name was becoming a known one, and there were reliable reviews of his plays located a few pages into the newspaper on a regular basis.


	3. They'll pay for anything if it's pretty enough

PT

PT flicks through the daily paper in a huff- the circus is mentioned nowhere. The column that he is generally able to find at least something in is taken over by a long and flowery review of some newly released play. The name of the playwright catches PT’s eye- Phillip Carlyle.  


Already a well known member of New York society, Carlyle seems to be rising in fame with his plays. His name just keeps showing up, and slowly but surely taking on the attention previously directed at the circus. The thrall of acting out dull everyday scenes for an audience is lost on PT, who is a constant whirlwind of energy and motion, and probably wouldn't even be able to sit through an entire dull, emotional play, but you’d be surprised what some people will pay to watch.  


It's getting chilly, but PT loiters outside of the theater, sipping from a flask. He’s closed the paper and folded it neatly into smaller and smaller squares. According to the schedule posted outside the door, tonight's production should be over in ten minutes.  


PT has never actually laid eyes on this Carlyle, but that is soon to change. Who knows, perhaps he’ll be a pretty one.


	4. Some Nights//Some Homes

Phillip

He exits the building with the last of the stragglers, not wishing to return to his large, hollow home- if you could call it that, it was really just a house- quite yet. Perhaps he’ll take a walk instead. Pick up a drink or a girl, maybe. Some nights are too lonely to spend alone. Some houses are too cold to go back to. 

The audience cried this evening. The performers on the stage shone, their vivid portrayals of Phillip’s already intricate creations making the people of the audience two dimensional and shallow in comparison. A plethora of worlds on the stage and a thousand more universes trapped in Phillip’s mind and no one to understand the chilly emptiness around him that was crushing, crushing.

He pulls his scarf over his face and jams his hands down, deep into his pockets. Phillip walks faster and faster, clenching his fingers around the contents of his pockets. He’d never admit it to himself, but something in his subconscious is running from the panic trailing him like a mangy black dog. He focuses hard on his pockets- There’s a pencil stub and a scrap of paper in one, and a few coins in the other. 

Phillip stops abruptly under a street lamp with the purpose of scrawling a few cliche words regarding the welcome arms of perfect, isolated aloneness, and the cold uncaring breast of the city. But he stops, because the scrap of paper already has words on it, because it's a clipping from the newspaper. How long has that been there? This coat is new as of a few weeks ago. 

It's a headline- "Barnum Circus Rises in Fame". When Phillip flips the paper over, there are a few fragments about the return of ships supposedly lost in the South China Seas, but nothing of importance. He rubs the paper between his fingers. Barnum circus… that sounds familiar-


	5. Word of an Honest Businessman

PT

Carlyle has stopped abruptly under a lamp post. There are no hookers nearby, which is logically, the only reason one might stop abruptly in the street at night. PT watches the man from his hiding place in the thick shadow of an alley that reeks of urine.  
Feet dragging now, shoulders hunched, Carlyle continues on. Lord, this man needs a stiff drink or a hooker. Or something better. PT steps into the light and calls out, “Phillip Carlyle?”  
The man turns and stares, “You gave me a shock. Can I help you?”  
When PT gets closer to the younger man he can see the hollows under his piercing blue eyes, and the peeling skin on his lips that showed how often his chewed them. (This may be harder then I had thought).  
But then, perhaps not.  
“Yes, I was wondering if you would like the grab a drink with me?”  
“And you are?” Carlyle asks suspiciously, eyes narrowed.  
“PT Barnum, at your service.” PT sweeps of his hat grandly and bows low. Then he peaks up and catches Carlyles eye, grinning. “You have my word that I wont mug you or murder you or anything else you may be thinking. Word of an honest businessman.”  
Carlyle pales slightly, and hold out a slip of paper. “As in the circus?”  
Its a newspaper clipping exactly like one pasted in PT’s journal.


End file.
